maldaen wrote:Yeah, I read "beer volcano" and I imagine all sorts of foliage and geological dispensements.

I'm thinking the coffee mountain is an extinct beer volcano that has a conical crater in the top. The FSM (praise His noodles) has placed an enormous filter paper in this cone, filled with coffee (Columbian Fair Trade, Italian Roast, I think). When it rains, the mountain makes coffee.

"I don't mean to sound bitter, cynical or cruel; but I am, so that's how it comes out." ~ Bill Hicks."To argue with a person who has renounced reason is like administering medicine to the dead." ~ Thomas Paine."One should not believe everything one reads on the internet." ~ Abraham Lincoln."If you're making a political point wearing a balaclava, you're a c***. It was true for the IRA and it's true now." ~ daftbeaker.

There is an old folk song that must have been written by a Pastafarian...

Big Rock Candy Mountain

One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was burningDown the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I'm not turningI'm headin' for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountainsSo come with me we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and brightWhere the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every nightWhere the boxcars are all empty and the sun shines every dayOn the birds and the bees and the cigarette treesWhere the lemonade springs where the bluebird singsIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legsAnd the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggsThe farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hayOh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snowWhere the rain don't fall and the wind don't blowIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socksAnd the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocksThe brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blindThere's a lake of stew and of whiskey tooYou can paddle all around 'em in a big canoeIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tinAnd you can walk right out again as soon as you are inThere ain't no short handled shovels, no axes saws or picksI'm a goin to stay where you sleep all dayWhere they hung the jerk that invented workIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains